


Brushes of Darkness

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Son of Batman (2014), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Gen, Mystery, Protective Bruce Wayne, young Bruce Wayne first couple chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-25 23:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21364339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: The myth of the bat was born in the shadows.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 77





	1. Falling into Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! *waves* It's been, oh, a week or so since I posted something, so I figured it was time again. This was just something that popped into my head, so I rolled with it.

Bruce Wayne died in that alley. 

So did Thomas and Martha. 

Bruce. Little, tiny, broken and bleeding Bruce, was frozen. Tears halfway dry still rested on his face, snow falling on ashen skin, gentle and feather-light. Lips slightly parted let out the final and foggy breath of the child. 

It was then that the shadows touched him. 

Caught in a fraction of the moment before the life would leave him, Bruce could sense them. The murky water on the street – under his frame, soaked into his clothes – grew colder. The darkness stretched across the ground, long and boney silhouettes brushing his shoulders like fingers, almost teasingly. Bruce tried to whimper, tried to move or twist away, but he couldn’t. 

One of those appendages brushed his cheek, as if trying to wipe away his tears. 

“_Shh."_

If he could have moved, the softness of that voice would have made him shiver. There was something dangerous, something about those shadows which didn’t beget the tenderness in that voice. 

“_We feel your fear, child."_

Bruce couldn’t see anything but the clouds above him, ugly, sooty clouds hanging above his head and casting shadows deep into the alley. 

Another shadow brushed at his hair and he would have whined. “_So small, he is. So sweet and young." _

“_So fragile." _ another whispered, the ghost of fingertips on his chin. 

Bruce could hear them, feel them, but he couldn’t see them. He couldn’t move to get away from them. The only thing he knew was cold. Cold and fear and dread. Bruce couldn’t even ask them what they wanted. 

“_We have a proposition for you." _

All the small boy lying on the ground knew then was fear, fear, fear. 

“_We’ll save your life. For a price. Give a fraction of your soul, just a tiny piece, and we will give you the darkness. You will live on.” _The voice paused, as if pondering something. “_Your parents, of course, aren’t part of the deal. Naïve as you are, you might give thoughtlessly.” _

Bruce didn’t want to say yes, but he didn’t want to die. He was_ scared _and he didn’t want to die. 

As if reading his mind, the shadows laughed. Bruce could feel them circling him. Those too-soft tendrils wrapped around his body and Bruce jolted with a scream. Their voices hushed him as they woke his body up. The stab wound in his chest seared as it closed and everything was too hot, too_ bright_. 

And then it was dark. 

And then it was_ dark_.

_ Beep. _

_ Beep. _

The sound was shrill. What was it? 

_ Beep. Beep. _

“Come on, son. You’re okay.” 

They called him ‘son’. Bruce wanted to open his eyes, but the struggle was infinite. Gentle encouragement had him coming around, but he was groggy. So groggy. 

Finally, he managed to crack open one eye. 

“There you are, buddy.” 

A heavy hand pressed against his shoulder and Bruce found himself staring up at an unfamiliar face. He was wearing a uniform, a badge on his shoulder and a cap under his arm. 

“Hey, there. My name is Jim Gordon.” 

Bruce made a small sound, the noise questioning. 

“You’re in the hospital, Bruce. Do you remember what happened?” 

He remembered all too well. Bruce started shaking, sobs bubbling out of his mouth without his permission. Gordon tried to comfort him, but his words did nothing for the terror in Bruce’s tiny frame. 

After long, long hours waiting in the hospital room, Alfred came for him. 

For days after the hospital, Bruce spent most of his time sleeping. He didn’t feel ill at all, just tired. He trembled almost constantly, shadows in his room shifting around at night and calling his name. 

Finally, to get his story straight, he asked Alfred what happened after... after what happened in the alley. 

“A couple of eyewitnesses spotted the man who - … the man who was running away from the scene, and decided to investigate. They found your parents, and they found you. I’m not quite sure anyone told you, young Master, but you were unconscious for three days.” 

Bruce memorized the event and Alfred's description. He knew then that the flickering shapes along the walls weren’t a trick of the light. He knew he shouldn’t have made it home. 

The two-inch scar between his ribs attested to that. 

He made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t let people like the man who killed his parents roam unpunished. Someday, he would clean up Gotham, but he didn’t know how. 

And those shadows? Those sickly-sweet entities that saved his life? 

They would teach him what it meant to become a myth. But not yet.


	2. Watchful

Alfred didn’t know how Bruce was doing it. 

He would hear the boy playing in some part of the house, and his sixth sense of trouble was like an alarm in his head. Nevertheless, when he arrived in the room, Bruce was gone and all that was left behind was an empty juice box and the puzzle box Alfred had given him. It hadn't been the first time.

“Master Bruce? Where are you?” 

Worry crept into his tone and he did a full turn. It didn’t take him long to wonder if someone had made it past the security measures and taken the boy right under his nose. 

“Master Bruce!” 

“Alfred? Why’re you yelling?” 

Standing in the doorway was a twelve-year-old Bruce Wayne. He held a fresh juice box in his hand. “Master Bruce. There you are.” Alfred took a calming breath. “You mustn’t disappear like that. I’m an old man, and you’re liable to give me a heart attack.” 

Bruce made a face and for a long time, he was silent. 

Alfred approached, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Was is it?” 

“Can.... Can I tell you a secret?” Bruce stared up at Alfred, tears building in his eyes. His shoulders started shaking in a way they hadn’t in a long time. 

“Of course, Master Bruce. You know I won’t tell a soul.” 

Bruce led Alfred to a chair, sitting on his lap. It was rare that Alfred held him so close, but the old man was more than ready to allow him a moment of weakness. He’d been putting on a brave face for far too long. 

“_I died, Alfred.” _

Alfred went stiff. 

“That night in the alley. I died. And then these... _things _found me.” He turned towards the old man’s chest, his small fingers twisting into his coat. “They told me they would save me if I-” 

The old butler quieted him. “It could have been your imagination, dear boy.” 

Bruce shook his head. “_No.” _

“What would make you think that it was real?” 

The boy trembled in Alfred’s arms. “They talk to me. They whisper in my ear, and.... They’re trying to teach me. They said they’d save me if I g-gave them part of my soul, and I said yes. Alfred, I said _yes_.” 

“It could have been something else.” 

Bruce shook his head, pulling back even though his hands were still gripping Alfred’s suit coat. “No! I wasn’t imagining things! I was stabbed right here!” Bruce pulled his shirt up, revealing the thick scar. It was still just as prominent as the day he got it. “They healed me.” 

“Master Bruce....” Alfred paused, remembering when the hospital staff gave him the boy’s clothes. “Oh my. All the blood on your clothes didn’t belong to your parents. I didn’t even look for a hole, just burnt them. The blood.... It was all yours.” 

The boy in his arms nodded, swallowing and pressing close to Alfred again. 

Alfred quieted Bruce, but then something occurred to him. “You said the shadows are trying to teach you. What are they trying to teach you?” 

Bruce crawled off of Alfred’s lap, flipping off the lights. The light shining in through the windows was still more than enough to see, but the room was cast with darker blotches. Bruce backed into a corner, taking a deep breath. 

The boy Alfred had cared for the last two years, hoping he would be okay, melted into the shadows. Alfred stood with uncharacteristic abruptness, staring at the spot with critical eyes. He held his breath as the shadow grew, rising up the wall and shifting. Alfred blinked and the inky shape was gone. 

Knuckles rapped on the door frame and Alfred turned. Bruce stood there in silence. 

Alfred approached, gripping Bruce’s shoulder before wrapping his arms around him. He tried to find a way to get Bruce to stop listening to them, but he realized he knew nothing of the situation. He could do nothing but be there for him.

It was also in that moment when Alfred knew he believed Bruce. Fully and surely. “Oh, my dear boy. I know you’re afraid, but if they meant to do ill, they would have long ago.” 

Bruce nodded. 

Alfred crouched down to meet his eyes. “All I ask is this: if they ever try to request something from you, you come to me. I don’t know what I can do, but I promise I’ll not let them hurt you.” 

Even as Bruce accepted another hug, he could hear them. He could hear the whispers as clear as day. “_You belong to us, Bruce.” _

_ You belong with us. _


	3. Legend

The first time Bruce donned the cowl, he could feel the shadows around him. They were waiting for him to join them. For years, they’d been grooming him to take hold of Gotham, and it was finally time. Everything they promised him was worth the cost. Traveling all over the world and training with the League of Assassins was good. It was right.

Alfred knew what he was planning, and he hated the idea. 

Bruce was fully confident. No one could hurt him anymore. 

His first mission for patrol that night was a drug bust. He’d been tracking the ring for weeks, exacting every detail of his first appearance. 

Batman took his first flight. The shadows protested as he chose to soar through the air rather than blend within their midst. Bruce, for the first time in a long time, ignored them. He’d taken their coaching, and he’d taken their pestering, but now it was his turn. He was going to savor the first moments of the crusade that would become his life if it killed him. 

It wouldn’t. 

Nothing could. 

A few of the people who glanced up quickly dismissed Bruce’s silhouette as nothing more than imagination. None of them understood that his shadow would soon become Gotham’s savior. 

Gotham’s nightmare. 

“_Master Bruce.” _

Bruce twitched, having forgotten all about checking in with Alfred once he was en route. “Everything is going according to plan, Alfred. I’m almost to the meet point.” 

“_Do be careful.” _

Finally, in the shade of those low-hanging clouds, Bruce dissolved. Whispers, louder than ever, filled Bruce’s ears. Those ancient beings reveled in him. It took Bruce years to figure out what they were. No records of such creatures existed no matter where he looked. He asked the shadows once or twice, but all they ever told him was that it didn’t matter. All that mattered was his belonging to them. 

“_Our salvation." _one crooned, late at night. 

Wraiths of Gotham. That’s the theory Bruce landed on, and he’s come to understand them more through the idea. 

Coming back to himself, Bruce landed on the rooftop across the street from his destination. The shadows hung off of his shoulders, dripping down the side of the building and moving ever-closer to his goal. They were so _eager_, and Bruce couldn't say he blamed them. 

Bruce blended into the small shadows between bricks, moving directly down the face of the building. Emerging onto the street was interesting because it was the easiest place for him to be caught. Street lights make it all too obvious when a shadow doesn’t belong. 

Luckily, traffic helped with shifting around. 

Slipping into the air ducks was so simple, it was almost sad. The deal was already going down when he got within earshot. The wraiths crowded Bruce, full of hungry excitement. They can’t hurt men because they are quite literally nothingness, but Bruce was their vessel for vengeance. Bruce was and is their sword. 

And that night? It was the first night they could strike. 

Bruce spilled out between the slats of the vent, slinking into the grayish blotch under the crates of drugs. He took everything in. Ten crates of what looked like cocaine were stacked along the wall where Bruce came into the room. There were seven men, all of them armed. Three buyers, one seller, and three guards. 

The buyers had just asked the man – one of Falcone’s - what his price was. 

That was as far as they got. 

Bruce rose from the murk of the shadows, a deep laugh erupting from his throat. It was practiced and slow sound, and not one he’d wanted to use. The shadows insisted. 

_“None of you are safe.” _

A few crack-shots missed him by inches. Bruce swooped underneath the fire, twisting and arching with inhuman grace. He leapt up, spreading his cape threateningly. There was a lot of screaming and gunfire, but what could a bullet do to the knight that feeds on fear? 

Within moments, all seven men were disarmed and unconscious on the ground. Bruce called in an anonymous tip from one of their phones. 

Batman was going to be a force for good in the city, and that meant he had to form relations with the police. Bruce knew who that ally had to be. With the greatest of patience, he waited for one Detective Jim Gordon. Throughout his younger years, Gordon checked up on him from time to time. Sometimes, he’d talk to Alfred when they knew Bruce was playing. Even with what he could do, Bruce could never bring himself to eavesdrop. 

When the police showed, Bruce flitted around in the shrouded corners. He caught Gordon’s eye and led him towards the back alley. It took some convincing, but eventually, the man opened the back door and looked around. 

Bruce rose from the ground behind him, his cape swishing around his feet and roiling like a void of nothingness. With a wry smile, he wondered how long it would take Jim to notice his presence. 

“_Holy mother of -” _

Gordon only saw him out of the corner of his eye, but he clapped a hand over his mouth to keep in a surprised shout. 

“Good evening, detective.” 

“Who the hell are you?” His eyes took in the way Batman appeared otherworldly, seeming to merge with reality itself. “_What_ are you, and what do you want from me?” 

Bruce said nothing, giving the older man time to observe. 

Gordon raised a brow when his eyes landed on the pointy ears. “So.... Batman, or whatever the hell you’re supposed to look like. If you’re done trying to intimidate me, do you mind telling me what you want?” 

Bruce couldn’t help but appreciate how quickly Jim acclimated to his existence. “I’m going to warn you. Change is coming to Gotham.” 

Jim merely huffed, but Bruce noted he kept a hand near his gun. “You’re a vigilante. No one will accept you. I’m having trouble not shooting you right now, but I get the feeling if you wanted to provoke me, you’d have done this a little differently.” 

Batman smirked. “Go ahead and try.” He grew solemn again. “I can almost guarantee the Commissioner will send out task forces to capture me. They won’t succeed.” 

“You’re awful sure of that.” 

Bruce sank into the ground, becoming nothing but a dark splotch in the infinite shroud of Gotham’s streets. His voice came from everywhere at once. “_Gotham needs new justice, detective. I want you to help me.” _

“I don’t know what you’d expect me to do.” 

“_We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” _

With that, Bruce slunk up the edge of the building and disappeared. 

Still on the ground, Gordon pulled out a cigar and his lighter. It took a few clicks to get the lighter to ignite. He shook his head and leaned against the wall as he took the time to get a good burn going. “Well.... That was weird.” 


End file.
